


The Flu

by theydonotmove



Series: Family Matters [2]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, Multi, PWP, or as was pointed out to me flu-ff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theydonotmove/pseuds/theydonotmove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is sick. That's literally the entire fic. This has not plot or purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flu

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't what I'm supposed to be writing but ... it's what happened??

Erik had to sit, his body failing him as another bout of coughing racked through him. Anya paced circles around the dining room bouncing Lorna on her hip. The toddler would not stop screaming and Anya, at twelve, was trying her best to calm her. Erik watched his daughters, helpless, until that too made him feel weak and dizzy and he pressed his cheek to the cool wood of the table. 

Wanda sat at the other end of the table, stoically colouring in an intricate design from her favourite colouring book. Her twin bounced around beside her, playing not touching you, or stop hitting yourself, or singing the song that never ends, and failing, in general, to get her attention.

In theory, Erik worked from home. But, he was a novelist. One that hardly needed any financial incentive and therefore didn’t feel compelled to sit down to write unless he had the perfect circumstances. He was always more creative at night, anyway (a fact he never shared unless his children were around since then, at least, Charles couldn’t make the same dirty joke he had for the last decade), so during the day he was more of a stay at home parent for his five children. And, since it was winter break, he had all five of them home in the middle of the day.

Wait. Erik lifted his head from the table. He had five children. He counted four.

Sighing, Erik took out his phone and hit send on the text he had typed and avoided using for the last hour. 

Think I’m sick. Having a little trouble with the children. :(

Then he stood, steadied himself, and went to find Davie. 

Davie, at first glance, was less trouble than his siblings. Anya was outspoken and much too clever - two positive traits that, on occasion, cancelled out to read as obnoxious. Wanda, while quiet most of the time, could throw a tantrum that rattled the entire manor. Pietro was a constant cycle of hyper-activity followed by the kind of tired eight year olds just cannot emotionally handle. And Lorna, well, Lorna was two, and there’s not much more you can say about that. 

Davie, on the other hand, David for long, was introverted, quiet, kind, and a conniving son of a bitch. He had his kindergarten teacher convinced, on his second day, that he was an orphan. She gave him an extra cookie and a hug every day for a week. She didn’t suspect a thing until Erik came to pick him up one day instead of his mother, Gabrielle. It clicked then, that the parent of three former students probably wasn’t moonlighting as a social worker. 

In short, Davie was Charles, and Erik now had a scrap of respect for how long Sharon and Brian had waited before giving up completely on this whole parenting thing. Just a scrap though.

He found Davie upstairs, trying to pile objects high enough that he could reach the ladder entrance to the attic. Erik didn’t even want to know and just scooped him up and brought him back downstairs. The one consolation to having a child that quietly skirts the rules is that they never complain when you stop them. Complaining means attention, and attention is supervision. 

When he reached the dining room, Erik wordlessly took Pietro by the wrist and motioned for Anya to follow. Pietro did complain, loudly, but that was expected. Wanda just gathered her art supplies and trailed along behind. Erik dragged Pietro to the living room where he put David back on his feet and flopped onto the couch. He handed Pietro the tv remote.

“Put on movie. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” He turned to Anya. “Gimme baby.” Anya carefully placed the now sleeping Lorna on his chest. “Thank you.”

And that was how Charles and Magda found them some thirty minutes later. Both Erik and Lorna were fast asleep despite the latest Pixar movie blaring on the screen. Anya was reading a book, and Wanda was still colouring. Pietro was keeping his promise by physically sitting on top of David. 

“Well, no one’s on fire,” said Magda. “Honestly, it’s better than I expected.” 

“I’ll take the big one,” said Charles.

“What else is new?” said Magda, with a smirk.

“Ew,” said Anya. It was easy to forget she was in middle school. 

Magda, pretending that didn’t just happen, turned down the volume on the tv and then eased Lorna off her father’s chest. She roused a bit, but Magda soon calmed her. She left the room to put her down in the nursery, fixing Pietro with a look on her way. The older boy got off of his brother without a word.

Charles, meanwhile, gently woke his husband. “Come on darling, let’s get you into bed.”

“Ew,” Anya piped up again, this time her tone sardonic. 

“Anya,” Charles warned. 

“Sorry,” said Anya. She was not.

“What are you doing here?” Erik asked.

“You texted us.”

“Yeah, I just needed some backup. You could have called Irene, or my Mom. You didn’t need to leave work.”

“It’s been eighteen years, darling, I speak Erik pretty damn well. ‘I think I’m sick,’ means ‘I am eighty percent dead already’ and ‘a little trouble with the children’ means ‘the hell-spawn have eaten the cat.’”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“Anymore,” said Anya. 

“And you’re busy,” Erik finished, ignoring her.

“Magda had no more patients today and my classes were over. Hank can handle himself in the lab.”

“That sounds unsanitary.”

“Anya!” Charles admonished.

Erik chuckled.

“Don’t encourage her.” 

“She is so your daughter,” said Erik.

“I have a PhD in genetics, darling. Trust me, that one is your fault.” He put the back of his hand to Erik’s forehead. “Okay, you have a fever. I need you in bed.” 

He looked over to Anya and she raised her hands in defense. As he turned back to Erik, he heard her mutter, “You could try not setting me up, though.”

“You’re not that kind of doctor, Charles,” Erik was saying. “Just mentioned it, in fact.”

“I have five children, Erik. I can spot a chicken pock from fifty paces. You have a fever.”

“Fine, fine.” He let Charles help him off the couch.

“Anya?” said Charles.

She waved a hand without looking up from her book. “Watch the rest of the hell-spawn. Yup.”

“Thank you.”

Charles soon had him tucked up in a guest room, his warmest pajamas on. “I’ll send in the ‘real’ doctor soon. Try to rest.” Erik turned his cheek for a kiss and got a pat on the head instead. Erik pouted. “Nice try. I won’t let you sleep in our bed and you think you’re getting a kiss?” Charles stroked his fingers through his husband’s hair instead. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so rotten, darling.”

Erik nodded and let his head fall to the pillow.

When he woke, it was dark in the room and Magda was checking the glands in his throat. “Swollen, but nothing to worry about,” she told him, quietly. He managed a weak smile.

Then, he yelped. Something had struck him in the shin. He turned his head to realize Pietro was tucked in beside him, kicking in his sleep. The boy coughed wetly and rolled over.

“Came down with it after dinner,” Magda whispered. “We didn’t want to quarantine him on his own.” Erik nodded. “Do you need anything?” He shook his head. “Alright, my love. You know where to find us.” 

Erik fell asleep before he heard the door click shut, even with his son thrashing next to him. 

The next morning, Davie came to the door with a bright red nose. He sniffed loudly. “Papa?”

“Yes, liebling?” 

“I’m sick.”

Erik shuffled closer to Pietro and pulled back the covers on his other side. Davie padded over and tucked himself under Erik’s arm. 

“Can we watch Batman?”

“Yeah, we can watch Batman. Hand me the remote, ‘Tro?”

It was a testament to how ill his eldest son was feeling that he didn’t argue the choice of show and silently passed his father the remote control. Normally, choosing a show would take twenty minutes of bargaining, simply because his brother had expressed a choice. 

Erik flicked on Netflix and turned to Pietro. “Are you okay, liebling?”

Pietro fell into a coughing fit and groaned in response. Erik felt his temperature and got big sad eyes in return. 

“I wish I could make you feel better. What do you need? Cold medicine?”

Pietro wrinkled his nose.

“Don’t just say no because it tastes bad. What about a Theraflu? You liked that last time.”

“Okay.”

Erik turned to get out of bed and realized Davie had fallen asleep on him. Pietro, on his other side, looked too pathetic to move. Just as he was considering the likelihood of learning how to levitate in the next few minutes, Charles came through the door carrying a tray with two mugs and a glass. 

“Thought I might find him in here,” he whispered, gesturing to Davie. “The female half of our family unanimously elected me to venture into the quarantine zone.” He put the tray down on the table beside his youngest son. He took the glass of orange juice off. “For him when he wakes up.” He leant down and brushed his lips against Davie’s temple. 

“He gets kissed and I don’t?” Erik pouted.

“I like him better,” Charles responded. He crossed to the other side of the bed. “Sit up, sweetheart,” he said to Pietro. “I brought you Theraflu.”

Pietro took the mug and croaked, “Thank you, daddy.”

Charles kissed his hair, as well.

“Gott, you have good timing,” said Erik.

Charles handed him a mug as well. “Tea.”

Erik took the mug gratefully and took a deep sip. He spluttered, just a bit. “Baby, this is scotch with hot water in it.”

“And?” Charles asked.

“And I love you.”

“Of course you do.”

“Even if you won’t kiss me.”

Charles sighed and leant over Pietro to kiss his husband on the cheek.

“I knew you liked me,” said Erik.

“I may have developed a small crush over the years, yes.”

It was three days later that Erik was back on his feet. Pietro was back to running around, as well, and Davie had a handy lingering cough that let his parents know where he was.

Charles, however, was in the guest room bed with a box of kleenex and his two elder daughters. Wanda was snoring softly on his left, and Anya was using his arm as a pillow on his right. Erik brought him a cup of ‘tea.’

“You know, you probably wouldn’t be sick if you hadn’t insisted on kissing me.”

“Erik, darling?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Fuck you.”

Erik laughed and left the room. Probably to make sure Magda would protect him once Charles was feeling better.

“You know I heard that, right?” said Anya.

Charles wrapped his hand around so it covered her face. “No, shh. Child is asleep.” 

“Dad!”

“Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.”


End file.
